


Side B

by Vodka112



Series: Earth-S (Stranded) [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, violence against a minor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vodka112/pseuds/Vodka112
Summary: Bruce thought he did the right thing when he left Jason to chase the Joker across the Atlantic.Companion piece to Stranded: Side A.





	Side B

**Author's Note:**

> Unfinished because I can't keep up this type of energy for too long. OTL I'm burned out. This project is shelved. Don't ask me about it. You'll get the rest when I post it. orz sorry.

_Can you tell me how Boston is like without me?_ – Typecast

 

**Night 0, APRIL ‘11**

It’s an unusually cold dawn, with the rays of the sun heralding the morning peeking from across the horizon. The water of the river rushes under the bridge while you chase your unwilling informant.

You back him up in an alley. He turns and swings hard at your face. You stumble, dazed. He aims a kick at you when you’re bent over. You yank his foot from under him, making him fall in the snow. Then you pounce on him and punch him in the face and stomach. Once. Twice. He cries before you land the third punch to his face.

“< _Please, no!_ >” he yells out in Bosnian. You turn him over with his face in the snow.

“< _The Joker, where is he?_ >” you ask as you keep him pinned with his arm bent behind him.

“< _I don’t know who you’re talking about,_ >” he says, and you pull his arm back.

“< _Now, or I’ll dislocate your shoulder,_ >” you answer. When he doesn’t reply, you make good on your promise. You pull, and he screams.

“< _No more, please! I’ll tell you where he is!_ >” he says, but you keep applying pressure on his back and his arm. “< _The Mokranjska Miljacka! He’s in the cave!_ >”

“< _Where?_ >” you growl.

“< _Near Kadino, at Mokro. Please let me go!_ >” he begs. You pull him up from the ground and push him away. You put enough force to make the man stumble. He gets his feet moving under him and he yells as he runs away. “< _You Americans are crazy!_ >”

 _You and me both,_ you think as you swiftly move away from the scene. The picture waiting for you out of the alley is something surreal. The sun shines briefly on the river; its waters are shimmering golden light, dazzling to the eye. You turn to the shadows and avoid the local authorities as you make your way back to the hotel.

Three days ago, you left Jason in Gotham while you get caught up with the Joker’s latest scene: selling unused neutron bombs in Sarajevo. Superman has been asked by the FBI to help retrieve the bombs. Personally, you think this is all a scam to resell weapons of mass destruction. You don’t trust the government much. It must be the Gothamite in you.

You still think it’s a shame you couldn’t trust Jason to stay safe out here. He’ll enjoy working with Superman. Nevertheless, the boy’s safety comes first, and if you can’t trust him with his own, how can you trust him with yours?

He’s been agitated lately, more prone to bursts of aggression. He’s hurting, and it pains you more that you can’t protect him from it. This _unseen wound_ that you can’t fix exists in this boy, and he has been bleeding rage through it. You have to talk to him about this soon.

You hope it’s not an _independence_ thing, like with Dick. Jay’s too young. You hate to lose another Robin this soon.

“Is it wise to leave the boy on his own, sir?” Alfred asks when you crawl in through the window of the nondescript hotel you’re staying in as Batman. _Bruce Wayne_ is remarkably less famous out of Gotham, and it makes being Batman easier.

You hum in answer to Alfred’s question, and he clicks his tongue. “He’ll be fine,” you elaborate, “I put in preventive measures if he tries to get into the cave.”

Alfred’s eyes roll so hard you think he’ll get them stuck that way. “Let’s hope that’s the case and not the alternative,” he says. You glare at his back when he turns to leave.

“I don’t have time for this,” you mutter to yourself, quickly wrapping your restocked belt around your waist and pulling down your cowl. “The Joker is in possession of multiple salted bombs. I need to make sure those don’t fall in the wrong hands.”

“Of course, sir. Carry on. I shall phone the boy and make sure he’s still at the manor,” Alfred’s voice carries over from the kitchen.

You stop what you’re doing to sneak behind him and growl, “What do you mean?”

“Well, he is quite the adventurous lad. Resourceful and self-sufficient,” Alfred says nonchalantly, offering you a plate of sandwiches. You ignore it and loom. Alfred isn’t scared of you, standing tall and proud as always. There’s no hint of fear in his eyes.

You huff. “Tell me when— _if_ he runs away, not before.” You go back into the room and fuss with your grappling gun.

“And it will most definitely be a _when_ , Master Bruce, if you do not—” A loud beeping noise cuts his tirade short. You look at each other for a moment. Then you grab the offending briefcase from under the couch.

You put in the four digit code to open the case, _1208_. It opens easily and almost noiselessly, clicking in place at more than a perpendicular angle. There is a set of four small screens inside, set on the top part of the case. On the bottom is a keyboard and headphones set, complete with a mic.

Each of the screens displays an entrance into the batcave. On one of the screens is the secret cave, another contains the sewage, and yet another reveals the garage. The last screen is flashing a red light before you silence it with a typed command. It shows your office and the grandfather clock.

You huff with how long it took Jason to finally break. You’ve installed security measures to keep Robin from coming out and wrecking havoc in Crime Alley while you were busy chasing Joker across the Atlantic. This is expected behavior. You feel good about this.

Except the person in the video couldn’t possibly be Jason. Tall, _huge_ , with black hair and wearing one of your Armani suits. The man turns around as if to contemplate his surroundings and you feel ice slide down your back. The man, whoever he is, looks _exactly_ like you.

“My god!” Alfred exclaims. The man carries Jason’s favored baseball bat. Its markings are recognizable. Your gaze is stuck on the blood smeared on it.

The man stops fiddling with the locked metal door and disappears out of the camera’s view. You move at the same time. “Change of plans.”

“Shall I call Superman, sir?” Alfred asks. He has half the number sequence already punched into his phone. You stand up and reach for the window, popping it open.

“No need. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” you say, and in no time at all, Superman is standing in front of Alfred. His cape is still ringing.

Alfred disconnects the call before punching in another set of numbers.

“Where’s the fire?” Superman asks.

You take off your cowl. The action fazes the man of steel, and you see him lean away in shock.

“I need a personal favor,” you tell him, staring into the abyss of his unearthly blue eyes. Superman blinks before his resolve firms. You let out a small sigh of relief.

“Sure, uh—Batman. I’m guessing it’s not something you can do by yourself,” Superman says, astute as ever. _Reporter’s instincts_ , you remind yourself.

“No,” you answer, swiftly turning towards the monitors. The man is back. He’s frantic this time, touching his watch and timing himself before attempting to crack the passageway down the Batcave. “He’s impersonated me, and I have reason to believe he hurt my—Robin.”

Superman looks like he’s trying to shoot out laser beams at the man through the monitor. You put your cowl back on and Superman steps back.

“I need you to fly me back to Gotham, _fast_ ,” you say. Superman blinks. He’s hesitating. You’re running out of time.

“It’ll take me five hours to get there by jet,” you reason.

Superman frowns. “Flying with me isn’t completely safe. The wind resistance alone—”

“ _Please_ ,” you beg.

It takes a heartbeat too long for him to say yes.

 

Superman drops you off at the docks and you bike through alleys, traffic and back ends to get to the manor. Your arms and neck are sore from the flight. Nevertheless, you found time to leave Superman a detailed message about the Joker’s plans involving the salted bombs. With that loose end tied up, you can focus entirely on this new mission.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach the manor. You ride through the dark and get off your mount in the wood’s shadows. Carefully, you creep up the backdoor and turn your night vision lenses on. This attack may be the work of a group. If they know Batman is here and they have Jason, they’ll kill the boy. You _cannot_ take that risk.

The hallways are devoid of life and sound. You creep through the old servant passages to check out the closed spaces, places where Jason could be hidden in. _No luck._ On the way, you check out the living spaces as well. The furniture is unmoved and the kitchen is mildly filthy. All signs pointing to Jason being here. The grime on the plates is old by a day or two. The food wrappers in the trash are new.

You move on to the bedrooms. Quiet. Everything is too quiet. It makes you increasingly believe this is a one-man job, that maybe they haven’t taken Jason…

His bedroom door opens at the touch of your hand. It’s the stench that you recognize first; the metallic taste of blood and the astringency of piss. You feel your heart skip a beat. You switch from night vision to thermal vision. There’s a strong heat signature in the corner of the room and you bend down over it. Warm and wet when you run your fingers over the spot. You flip to night vision again. The room is as empty as before…

 

You storm into the study, bringing the rage of hell with you. The desk lamp is your double’s only light source. You drag him by the back of his neck and throw him down on the floor. You punch him in the face and in the stomach. Once, twice, _three times_ and you reign in the urge to do _more_.

“Where’s Jason?” you growl at the imposter. He coughs and you shake him by the lapels of his clothes. “Where is he?”

“I’m not telling a costumed freak like you,” he mumbles and you punch him in the stomach one more time. Then you punch him in the face. You hear his nose crack.

“ _Where. Is. He?”_ you growl again. The imposter is limp in your hands. In your fury, you stand up and slam him on the wall. He crumples to the ground.

You completely miss the thundering footsteps of about twenty men coming in from the hallway through the door. Blue and red lights are flashing outside. You move away when GCPD comes barging through. They fumble about, casting their flashlights on places that don’t need it. Officer Montoya is leading the team, nothing less for Jim’s young friend, _Brucie Wayne_. She points her light and gun at you before lowering her arms. Her light falls on the beaten-up _fake_ and her gun points back at you. Her phone rings.

“What the fuck happened here?” she asks. She waves a hand back as the rest of her team points their guns at you.

One of her rookies chimes in, “Montoya, why aren’t we firing?”

“Shut up, Glendale,” she snaps. Her finger is steady on the trigger of her live gun. Her phone keeps on ringing.

You know you have to explain what happened, about the imposter and about Jason or steer the police away from the entrance to the cave, but every second you spend with this rabble is a second you could be searching for Jason. _You have no time for this._

You gear yourself up to jump through the window when a voice speaks in your ear. You tense in surprise.

 _“Don’t you dare, B,”_ Barbara’s voice comes in through the communicator. “ _Make Renee answer her phone. That’s Agent A calling her. I’m five minutes from your location._ Don’t _do anything stupid.”_

You bolt, just as Montoya yells.

You ram the glass window with your shoulder. It shatters, and then you’re airborne, protected from the shards by your cape. You land awkwardly on your foot and you force your body to roll, trying to lessen the damage. You run to the woods, gunshots following in your wake.

You grimace when you climb on the bike. You must have sprained your ankle. It needs to be looked at. You grit your teeth and ignore the twinges of pain. You need to scour the manor’s grounds. You need to find Jason.

 

You find yourself staring up the Elliot Manor after a fruitless three-hour search. You still haven’t found Jason, but spending part of the night running all around the estate trying to out-pace the police had done something to your anger. It’s still there, a live-wire you’re holding onto. Key word: _holding_. You lost it, back at the manor. You let fear overtake your senses and you made rash decisions. It’ll come back to bite you.

Your ankle hurts more than you want to admit. You ignore it as you observe the boarded-up house and the vehicle innocently parked next to it. It’s increasingly evident that the perpetrator used this as his base of operations.

You peer into the car. There’s trash and soiled clothes, some paperwork. You pick the trunk open. There’s nothing inside but packed food supplies. You pick the driver’s side door next. There are food wrappers on the floor of the car, old coffee in a disposable cup in the holder, and what appear to be blueprints of the manor in the passenger’s seat. You reach for your belts to fumble for a penlight. You turn it on and hold it between your teeth. Under close inspection, you see that the blueprints are just a couple of pages printed from the library, which assures its inaccuracy.

A folded piece of paper slips out of the pile. You set the rest back on the seat and pick it up. When you see what’s written, you gasp and the penlight falls from your mouth.

It’s another blueprint of the manor, neatly written with a steady hand. No smudges. The writing style is familiar to you, and the horror of discovering Jason’s abductor’s identity chills you to the bone.

You grit your teeth and pick up the paper. You take a careful picture of it with your digital camera before you fold and put it back with the pile. Then you head for the house.

The door is closed but the boards covering it lay in pieces on the ground. You tread inside with care. It’s a slow and arduous path, with your ankle demanding your attention. Sweat trickles down your jaw. You reach the kitchen, the scent of mold clinging in the air. Without a master, the estate has fallen into disrepair. You’ve done your best to preserve what can be: the size of the land and personal, prized possessions. You pass by discolored square blots on the wall where paintings used to hang. They’re in a vault in Gotham Bank, where you put up an account for Tommy.

Dr. Thomas “Tommy _”_ Elliot, Jr. is an old friend of yours. He’s been with you since the very beginning of your life. Regrettably, that friendship was cut short months after your sixteenth birthday. At the time, you were investigating Elliot Sr, aka _Elias_ , an up-and-coming Don in East Side. The very same day you sent your notes to GCPD, the Elliot family came to a tragic end. Their car toppled off a cliff _en route_ to their vacation house. Tommy managed to swim ashore and called for help. When their car was fished out, both Mr. and Mrs. Elliot had drowned to death.

GCPD was ruthless when they confiscated every bit of property the Elliots had. The reparation costs had cleaned out the rest of their money. You tried to help by paying for Tommy’s lawyers and setting up a fund for him through Wayne Foundation, but no one anticipated Roman Sionis seizing what was left of Elias’ empire. Sionis then sent a hired killer for Tommy’s head, and he had to leave the country. That’s the last you’ve heard of him. You’ve always believed he must have known your involvement with the state of his affairs. He never touched the funds you left for him.

Nevertheless, you kept an eye out. You knew he graduated med school and went into cosmetic surgery. You knew he more than made up the money his family lost all those years past. You knew he came back to Gotham a fortnight ago to finally attend the summer gala you’ve spent years inviting him to.

You didn’t know he came back for this.

The kitchen is dirty with use. There are food wrappers and containers everywhere. On the walls is a huge pins-and-strings graph with you in the center. There’s hate in every scrawl. You take a panoramic picture with the camera, shining the penlight where the camera is facing.

There’s nothing more you can do here, with the state you’re in. You take the same laborious steps out of the house.

 

“You should have come here first thing, stubborn fool,” Leslie grouses. She’s patching your ankle up. It’s nothing but a sprain, as deduced, but you made it sore by going around Gotham looking for your boy. You still haven’t found Jason.

“You need to be off your feet for a few days—” she starts but you stand up the minute she’s done wrapping up.

“Jason doesn’t have a few days,” you argue back and you limp to the door. Leslie lifts her hands high in the air.

“I don’t know why I even bother!” she snaps, and you ignore her. You head for the main office from the hallway. Batgirl is standing at the end, blocking your escape route. The latest armor design suits her. She looks like a statue, cold and immovable.

“You didn’t listen to me,” Batgirl growls. You snort and you try to go around her. She shifts to block you again.

“Batgirl. Step aside,” you command. She stands unbowed. You huff out a breath and use your bulk to shove her away. She doesn’t yield and she pushes you back with twice the force. You stumble back and lean your weight on the wall.

“All you had to do was make her answer that call! What’s so hard about that?” she scolds.

“Montoya doesn’t trust me. She wouldn’t have done it,” you reply as you straighten up and continue your path to the main office.

“And now you’ve convinced her that Batman broke in the manor, beat Bruce Wayne to a pulp, then took Jason,” Batgirl reasons. You walk past her and into the bigger office. It’s a small room full of cabinets and a couple of tables. You grab your boots from under Leslie’s desk. She always hides it there when you visit.

“What did you see?” you ask Batgirl as you gingerly put your swollen ankle back in the small confines of the boot.

“What didn’t I see? Montoya wouldn’t even let me in. Everyone’s swarming the manor,” she complains. Then she relents when you stare at her a little too long. “I got some pictures of the crime scenes and DNA samples.”

She takes out a small pillbox from her utility belt and sets it on your waiting hand. You open it. Inside is a small SD card and a couple of capsules containing liquid evidence. You close the box and slip it into one of your belt’s compartments.

“B, if you haven’t found Jason—” Batgirl says but you don’t let her finish that thought.

“I haven’t searched hard enough,” you answer. You feel a light touch on your shoulder and you look up from lacing your boots.

“I was going to say, it’s time to call some friends,” Batgirl explains. She pushes your shoulder lightly. “C’mon. You have to trust us with this: the GCPD, me, Batwoman and Huntress. You have to trust Jason, that he’s alright and that we’ll get to him.”

Your gloves squeak with how tightly you clench your hand.

“If he was, he wouldn’t be missing,” you say.

Barbara scowls, and you look away to finish tying your boots.

“Do what you do best, B. Use the facts. Find out the truth. Call me when you see something new,” she adds. Then she turns and slams the door as she leaves.

_Barbara was supposed to check up on Jason every night while you were gone. If only she—_

No. This isn’t on Barbara. This is all on you.

You stand still in the dark room, letting the minutes trickle by. Then you sigh and sit back down on the bench. You know Barbara’s right. If Jason escaped, you should’ve found him by now. You haven’t. _No one has._

The sun is slowly rising outside, lighting the room in a soft haze. You stare at the windows with dread.

The door opens, and a scrappy teen slinks in. “I know ya told me not to come too early, but—” he whines, but the rest of it gets caught in his throat when he takes a good look at you. His brown eyes grow wide with fear. It takes him less than a second to get out of there, slamming the door behind him.

Good reflexes. It’ll keep him alive.

You stand up gingerly and limp towards the back door, taking you through the hallways again. Leslie pokes her head out to peer into the waiting room.

“I thought I heard the door. Why are you still here?” she asked. She has a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.

“Someone wanted to come in,” you grunt in answer and reach for the cup.

She’s quick, carefully clutching the cup close to her body. “You can’t. You’re in enough medication to put a horse to sleep.”

You scowl.

 

You drive into the cave with the bats that morning. If it takes you more than twenty minutes getting out of the car, there’s no one around to judge you for it. It’s a slow trek up to the platform to access the computer.

The photos make your stomach churn. You run the DNA samples against known databases. It’ll take till evening to view the results. In the mean time, you scour the cctv for any clues about Jason’s disappearance. You monitor the police force combing through your estate. They’re stumbling about, marking possible crime scenes. The Elliot Manor is a ways off their beaten path. You have to fully investigate that house before Montoya finds it.

You try not to feel anything when you watch the manor’s security footage. No wonder your facial recognition software didn’t trigger an alarm. Whoever your double is, he’s had the best cosmetic job in town, most likely from Dr. Elliot.

After that, you tailor the vids, making sure Batman’s image is blurry enough. You know Jim will be asking you for the tapes soon. After all, the police can’t get started on any investigation in your property without your say-so. They can get a warrant from a judge but Alfred called Jim when Officer Montoya was reasonably busy after your escape. _Brucie Wayne_ is flying back to Gotham right this moment to settle matters with the GCPD.

A chime sounds from your phone and the bats flutter away, screaming squeaky complaints. You gingerly get up. That’s Alfred about to touch down at the airport. You need to get ready to meet him.

 

“Bruce! Let’s talk in my office,” Jim greets when you limp into the bullpen. Alfred is taking up your rear and he bows out of coming into the office with you.

“I wish we could have met under better circumstances— What the hell happened to your leg?” he asks, his eyes finally taking in your limp and walking boot.

“I fell off the liquor cabinet in my hotel room. I don’t remember any of it,” you lie. You hobble closer to Jim’s cluttered desk to drop off a bag. “Security tapes. I thought you might need it.”

“You were at the manor already? Why wasn’t I notified?” Jim asks.

“I keep these in an outer shed. Your people wouldn’t have seen me,” you lie again. Jim notices you leaning too close to his desk and he holds up a hand.

“I can’t let you look at those. Sorry, Bruce,” he says and he starts gathering the paperwork spread on his table. He singles out a document and hands it over to you. “Here, it’s the search consent form. Let me get you a pen.”

He’s still searching his desk when you sign the paper with your fountain pen. There are only two officers allowed to take evidence off the property. “I want a copy of this form for my household,” you say.

“Of course. I’ll let Nick get that for you. Nick!” Jim hollers out the door. An intern comes up, clean shaven and still bright-eyed. “Triplicate this and laminate all copies.”

Nick nods. Jim hands him the paper and gives him a twenty-dollar-bill, saying, “Bring up some coffee from the place down the street. A Cup o’ Joe and a caramel frap, two shots.”

Nick tries to get a good ogle at you, but Jim shuts the door in his face. He turns around and catches you looking into the folder on his desk. He clicks his tongue, comes over, and taps the folder shut.

“Sit down,” he commands, pointing at the couch on the other side of the desk.

You ignore him. “Jason’s life is on the line here, Jim.”

Jim grimaces. “I know. I’m sorry this happened.”

He visibly deflates when he sits in his chair. You bite the inside of your cheek as you sit on the couch to the side.

“You’re my friend, Bruce, and I know this isn’t your first rodeo. I don’t need to explain how the judicial system works, all over again, do I?” Jim asks. You face the wall and stay silent. He sighs.

“We’re doing all we can to find your son. You signed that consent form. It helps. You being here, giving your statement? That helps, too. Give us some time. We’ll find the truth,” Jim explains. You purse your lips.

“I want him back, Jim,” you confess, turning to look at Jim in the eye.

“We’re doing all we can,” Jim answers. Then he gets up and pulls away from the desk. You get up, too, with your hands in your pockets like a petulant child.

It takes him three strides to get where you are, and he grasps your shoulders, just like he did all those years ago. He has to tilt his head to look into your eyes when he says, “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

You grit your teeth. “We’ll see,” you say. Then you’re walking out of his office. You nearly smash into the intern from before. Nick’s eyes bug out at the look on your face, and you easily grab one of the laminated documents in his grasp. He doesn’t notice his tie swimming in the foamy frap.

“Nick, please escort Mr. Wayne to Renee’s desk. She’ll want to get his statement,” Jim orders.

 

You meet up with Alfred outside the office. He’s already in the car, as expected. “Where to, Master Bruce?”

“Wayne Tower,” you reply. The Bentley smoothly joins the flow of traffic. You immediately open your phone, typing in the spare information you read from the files on Jim’s desk. There are news vans waiting outside the building. Cameras flash as the car enters the employee garage.

Lucius greets you when you come up through the parking elevator and out the lobby. “Mr. Wayne,” he says, grasping your elbow.

You return the gesture. “Lucius, how are we doing with—how are we doing?”

“Pretty fine. There’s been no change to the stock market as of yet, but we’re expecting a fluctuation at some point. Melody’s ready for a press conference whenever,” Lucius reports as you make your ways to the elevators. “But we need an action plan asap. The lid can blow on this at any second, and we have to be ahead of the tide.”

You nod. There’s a flat-screen TV by the elevators, installed as an early warning measure. It usually shows business news and current events. Now, it’s showing a news anchor talking about the latest. You tune it out.

“You’re right. I’ll send for her in my office,” you say. Then you swipe your ID into the slot next to the elevator. It’s the only one that leads to both the Penthouse and your office. You turn to face Lucius—

You catch Jason’s name in the scrolling news.

_\--Batman faces charges for assault on billionaire Bruce Wayne and son, Jason Todd--_

You barely register Lucius and Alfred turning to look as well. You move through a crowd of people to get closer.

 _\--child still missing after police confrontation with the Batman. Key witness, Bruce Wayne, currently admitted in Gotham General Hospital_ _for injuries.--_

_\--This just in. Bruce Wayne pleads guilty for maltreatment of adopted son, Jason Todd. Quote: “I needed the release. I would have gotten away with it, if it wasn’t for the Batman--_

Someone grabs your elbow and you evade, rearing back to counter the attack. It’s Lucius, and he grabs your elbow again to pull you to the elevators. There’s stone-cold fury on his face. Alfred takes your other elbow, making it impossible to escape. The rest of the employees are looking worriedly at you as the elevator doors close.

“Bruce,” Lucius starts as the carriage ascends the tower at top speed. He turns to look you in the eye. “What’s really going on?”

You stay silent. Alfred speaks for you. “It’s a very delicate topic.”

Lucius stays by your side the whole way to your office. Melody Diaz, your personal press secretary, is already inside. She’s sitting on the couch, her eyes and ears glued to her phone. She goes pale when she looks at you.

“This is big trouble, boss,” she says.

“Go and get yourself some coffee. We’ll reconvene in five minutes,” Lucius says as he leads her out by her elbow.

“Are you sure? We can still turn this around, I swear,” you hear her reason. Alfred reappears by your side with a glass of water. You take it without meaning to and set it down on the desk when Alfred turns away. You boot-up your computer as you take your phone out. You don’t check the notifications and turn it off. Anyone who wants to talk to you can talk to your secretary.

Lucius comes back. He stands by your desk and crosses his arms. Alfred offers him a glass of water and he shakes his head. “I’m not like him,” he says, pointing at you. “Is there any hard liquor around here?”

Alfred seems to think about this for a second. He goes away and comes back with a bottle of Whiskey. He pours roughly two fingers into two glasses. He gives one to Lucius, keeping the other in his hand.

“Bottoms up,” Alfred says, and they down it in one gulp.

“Now, can you tell me what’s going on? The news early this morning was about a break-in, not—whatever in hell this is,” Lucius asks.

You sit down. The men before you sit down as well. You rest your fist on your lips, trying to think of where to start.

“Is this about… your extracurricular activities?” Lucius continues. He’s trying to be subtle.

“No,” you answer with a frown. The computer is finally awake. You type in your twenty-digit password. “For once, it’s not. Jason’s been… Someone impersonated me, broke into the manor and attacked Jason. He’s been abducted.”

You open the _club_ chat room. It’s on a secure private server Barbara made and maintained since she started wearing the cape. You enter your username and password. Barbara’s already on, and so is Kate.

 

> **_BM entered the room._ **
> 
> **BG:** _B, what’s your status?_
> 
> **BW:** _ Wat do u nid? Hav axes 2 GCPD crim lab n evi rm _

Lucius looks at Alfred, then at you. “What do you mean _impersonated_?”

“He had cosmetic surgery to look like me,” you say out loud. Your fingers move on the keyboard.

 

> **BM:** _BG, look up DR. THOMAS ELLIOT, JR: finances, affiliations, routine and current location._
> 
> **BM:** _BW, Thank you. I need their list of evidence. For now, find transport details for patient 619, Gotham General Hospital. Need to intercept cargo._

Lucius turns to Alfred and asks, “Really?”

Alfred looks dour when he answers. “I’m afraid so.” He reaches for the bottle and pours himself another glass.

“He had a media contact ready,” you say. It isn’t enough to hurt Jason. Thomas is making sure you take the fall for it, too. He wants to thoroughly destroy you. If there’s anyone who took Jason that night, it has to be him.

 

> **BG:** _On it._
> 
> **BW:** _done 2x_
> 
> **BG:** _B, please drink the water. I know you’re worried, but you need to take care of yourself. Especially now._
> 
> **BW:** _bg, dwyt. bm, \\_/ grog. it hlps_

You glare at the hidden camera you installed in the ceiling while reaching for the glass of water on your desk. Then you grudgingly down it in huge, fast gulps.

“Bruce, you’re not making any sense,” Lucius complains. “We have,” he pulls back a sleeve to read his watch, “two minutes left to decide what we can tell Melody.”

You type in one last message.

 

> **BM:** _BW. Don’t._

Then you log out of the chat room.

“We won’t tell her anything,” you say. “Bruce Wayne went on a business trip to Sarajevo and heard about the break-in from the Commissioner…”

 

“…I haven’t plead to anything or confessed to anything. Whoever this mad man is, he isn’t me. I’ll see him in court for the acts of violence he committed against my family,” you declare. Your voice travels through the lobby, as Melody planned. You implement a tower-wide recess in hopes of catching your employee’s attention. It’s vital to the company that your own people don’t spread negative information and gossip.

The mic lets out a squealing noise that makes some reporters squirm. You spy Vicki sitting three chairs from the back, raising her hand. Melody nods and a hulking security guy hands her a mic.

“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette. Mr. Wayne, do you deny dropping by GCPD early today?” she asks.

“I did drop by GCPD, but only to give my statement,” you answer.

“Video evidence of your confession is going viral on the net right now. Can we get a comment?” she asks again. Melody gets twitchy and signals the security guy to stop her.

“First of all, it wasn’t my confession. It was made by whoever this man really is. It’s his confession. Secondly, do you think I’d ever get caught on video wearing those rags?” you ask back. Sensing the end of your response, Vicki tries to ask another question. The guy that handed her the mic sets a hand on her shoulder. There’s a quiet battle going on between them as the guy sets his hand on the mic.

Someone from the left side of the room raises his hand. Melody nods to them. Another security guy approaches the reporter and hands him a new mic. You can hear Vicki’s muffled complaints. It looks like she’s not giving up without a fight.

“Terry Toledo, Sun Trib. Mr. Wayne, are you trying to tell us there’s two of you in Gotham? I mean, that you have a look-alike who’s currently being held by the GCPD?” he asks.

“Yes. Believe me, it’s impossible to be in two places at once. I was still over the Antlantic when this… crime was taking place,” you answer. The reporter right next to him raises her hand. Melody nods, and the mic starts to move down the row.

“Trish Callaghan, News Today. The Batman was spotted in the scene of the crime last night. Why is he there, and what are your connections to the Batman?”

“Trish, you’re asking impossible questions. Why would I know anything about the Batman? Why would anyone? To answer your question: no, I have no idea.”

“Daniel Adams, Goodmorning Gotham. Mr. Wayne, what are you doing to find your missing son?”

“Everything I can, Daniel. Everything I can…”

 

You shuffle inside the tower penthouse with Lucius carrying your shoulder and Alfred opening the doors. You collapse the moment you sit on the sofa. You put your foot up and carefully remove your walking boot. There’s no need to take off the bandages to see how your ankle has swelled.

“I thought you were faking the limp,” Lucius remarks.

You grunt as you move your foot to a more comfortable position. “Not this time.”

“Here. Drink some of this. Didn’t Leslie give you something for the pain?” Alfred asks as he hands you a glass of water and a couple of pills. You pop them in your mouth and swallow. He also has a bag of frozen peas and you put that on your ankle.

“When I saw her this morning, at the crack of dawn,” you grouse.

“Well, try to be off your feet for a while, Bruce. You look pale as death,” Lucius warns.

Alfred claps, calling your attention. “I’ll whip something up for lunch.  Will you be joining us, Lucius?”

“Sorry, Alfred, I can’t. I have a previous engagement,” he answers. He gets up with a grunt, both of his hands on his knees to give him stability. “I promised Tam I’d take her out for lunch today. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Very well,” Alfred says. He leads the man out of the penthouse. When he comes back, he stands in front of you and asks, “Would you like to eat here or at the table?”

You take in a deep breath, bracing yourself for a world of pain. “Get me up,” you say, putting your foot back in the boot and on the floor. “I need to check in on—“

“No, sir,” Alfred interrupts. “You are going to eat. After that, it’s straight to bed with you. If you don’t want to be in a wheelchair in your sixties, I suggest you follow what I said.”

You stop and frown at him. “Alfred, I don’t have time.”

“I, for one, will not allow you to destroy yourself by moving in this frantic state. You need to calm down,” he says. You almost splutter in answer, stuck between rage and confusion.

“ _Calm down?_ ” you ask incredulously.

Alfred stands straighter as he tugs on his lapels. “I believe I’ve spoken clearly.”

You stare at one another for a moment.

“Alfred, every second I waste is a second I can use to find him,” you reason.

“You will find him. I believe in you, Bruce, but not at the expense of your wellbeing,” Alfred counters.

“He’s worth more than that. He deserves more,” you growl.

Alfred clicks his tongue. “You are doing that. You’re devoting yourself wholly to this endeavor, but you’re not alone. I can look into what you need to get done with the computer if I have to.”

Alfred hands you a crutch he found who-knows-where before continuing his lecture. “I believe it’s a shame if, by the end of it all, we fail because _you_ failed to heed your own limits. Bruce, you need to rest up. Jason needs you out there tonight and you can’t do it with a broken ankle.”

 

It’s 4pm when you wake up. You fumble for the snooze button and wince as you turn your ankle. You stare at the clock for five minutes before trying to sit up. You reach for the CAM boot and put it on. You get up and _move_ , anything to keep from thinking too much. You still feel the shadows of guilt creeping ever closer.

It’s a welcome distraction when Alfred comes by the bedroom. “Sir, Ms. Kane is waiting for you in the living room.”

Kate has her back turned when you come in. She’s watching the Gotham skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s a wall full of yellow sunlight and smoke, with signs of fog rolling down Millionaire’s Mile, and she’s standing like a sentinel before it.

“It’s going to be strange out there tonight,” she says. She doesn’t turn around.

“Do you have it?” you ask her without straying from the shadows. She turns, her red lips thin and her eyes piercing. Then she blinks, and the warrior disappears from her eyes. She’s almost half-smiling as she languidly fetches something from behind a potted plant.

“You asked for a list. Here you go,” Kate says and she hands you a folded piece of paper and a cooler box. You slip the paper in your pocket before taking the box. It’s heavier than you think, and you raise a brow at her in question as you lift the latch. Inside are blood samples and various physical evidences held in their special zip bags.

You turn to stare at Kate. “This is—how—“

“I’ve got a little bit of inside help. They’re _borrowed_ , if you get my drift. I’ll need to put those back in a couple of hours,” she explains.

You look at the box in your hands and close the lid. “Thank you.”

Kate smirks as she walks over to get her coat. It’s splayed all over the sofa. “Don’t mention it. Really. She’ll make me sleep in the couch forever if she gets a wind of this.”

You nod and you stow the box under the counters. “I’ll need to process this in the bunker,” you say, making sure your voice carries all the way from the kitchen.

When you come back, Kate is bundled in her coat. It’s as red as her hair. She stops by the doorway as if to kiss you on the cheek, a ruse you both keep up for the sake of your secret identities. The edge of her mouth crumples in a frown instead.

“Hey. If he’s out there, we’ll find him. In the meantime, try not to piss off the people who care about you. I obviously don’t give a damn, but Bab’s not doing well either,” she says. Her piercing eyes seem to measure your worth. You stare right back at her.

“Is that all?” you ask back.

“If it comes down to it, I’ll break out granddaddy’s Bourbon. Hell, we’ll break the whole cellar and make space for better vintages,” she grumbles. You open the door for her and she kisses you on the cheek when she steps out. You laugh and wave her off.

You scowl when you’re behind closed doors again. You put your hand through your pocket, pick out the paper and unfold it. You read it before tearing it to pieces.

 

The bunker under Wayne Tower smells faintly of sewage. It’s cloying, reminding you of the reason why you never moved from the cave. You can hear rats scuttling about somewhere in the tunnels.

The fluid samples from Batwoman’s stash easily checks out with Batgirl’s samples. You keep the data in an unnamed file and keep going. The lab is smaller and can only process items up two at a time. It’s frustrating. You keep a mental note to furnish the bunker with more toys.

Batwoman’s borrowed evidence also contains paperwork and sketches. You align this with the photos Batgirl took. It doesn’t take long for you to make a rough sketch for the primary crime scene. The evidence list has been helpful in figuring out what the officers took and where they got it.

You stare intently at _unnamed item number six_.

It’s the only anomaly in the paperwork. It’s been mentioned in the sketches, but there’s no way of knowing what it is. You’re going to have to drop by GCPD and see the item in question for yourself.

Your phone rings. It’s the burner phone Alfred got as a temporary replacement for your old number. It’s strictly for Batman’s use, in case any of your colleagues found time-sensitive information for you. Right now, it’s flashing Batgirl’s number.

“B, you’re not going to like this,” she says right off the bat. “Dr. Elliot’s car was last seen heading for millionaire’s hill a few days ago. He’s not been seen since. Do you want me to check his place out?”

“I already did,” you answer. “I need to know if he’s working alone.”

You can hear frantic typing in the background of the call. “You didn’t think to tell me? Bruce, I can’t do my job if I don’t have all the facts,” Batgirl says, her voice sharp and irritated.

“You didn’t need to know. Check if he has any accomplices,” you answer.

“If this is your version of _benching_ me, you need to think again,” she counters. “I’m not here to fight you. I’m here to find Jason, and if you can’t get your head in the game, I’m going solo.”

You bristle at her words. “If you’d done what I asked you to do, he’d still be here!” you bellow into the phone. Once you get started, it’s hard to stop. “I asked you to check up on him as often as you can. This shouldn’t have happened!”

“This isn’t my fault, Bruce!” she yells back. “I _did_ check up on him! You know he doesn’t like people sticking their nose into his business—”

“He’s a kid! He doesn’t have business worth not—”

“He does! He deserves privacy and the little bit of freedom that you’re afraid to give him!”

“Don’t tell me how to parent my son!”

“Then don’t leave him with me whenever he gets too mouthy!”

Her words ring through your mind. You’re both breathing heavily through the sudden silence. You hear her hitching breaths through the static noise of the phone.

“If you want to fight me, come over here and do it, but not now, not when Jason’s life is on the line,” Barbara says hotly. “You weren’t the only one to see that crime scene, Bruce. I’ve—I can’t even say I’ve never seen anything like it. We both have. We both know what went on in that room. We can’t fall to pieces. Not now.

“So if you have anything that can help me help Jason, by god, _give_ it to me. I want to find him as badly as you do,” she finishes.

It takes a long moment for you to answer. “Their base of operations is the abandoned mansion next to the manor. There’s a planning room set-up there.”

“Thank you,” Barbara replies. There’s a subtle, low, ticking sound in the background: five successive clicks. You think Barbara doesn’t notice it anymore, having lived in the clock tower for half a year already. It had been a pain to sound proof the place enough to be lived in, and Jason had complained about the move and the work the whole time.

You slam your fist down on the table and a couple of beakers roll off. They shatter on the ground.

“Bruce, are you still there? Are you sitting down? Where’s Alfred?” Barbara asks.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Have you checked outgoing traffic, boat schedules, flights?”

“First thing I did. Officially, neither Jason nor Dr. Elliot has left the city. Unofficially,” she falters, “Sionis’ trafficking ring is scheduled for GCPD busting in a couple of days. They have a small outgoing shipment scheduled tomorrow morning.”

You straighten up and wince. You must’ve put more weight on your ankle than you thought. “We’re moving up the schedule. Call everyone. We’re taking this operation down by midnight.”

Barbara hesitates.

“I’ll ring them up,” she says, at last. Her voice is followed by a series of heavy tapping. “Do you want the GCPD in on this?”

“No,” you answer. “I want us all out of there by the time they arrive.”

“You think Dr. Elliot masterminded the attack, operated on someone and made them—you think he has Jason?” she asks after a while, the tone of her voice completely in Batgirl’s territory once again. “I can check the manor’s security footage, just in case any of the cameras caught him. It’ll be better than satellite image.”

You grit your teeth as you sit down on the computer chair. You lift your foot up on the table. “I checked. He wasn’t there,” you repeat tersely.

“He had no one, B. I’ve gone back as far as a couple of years ago, and everything checks out. He hadn’t made a deal with anyone,” Batgirl insists. “I should get a look at the security vids anyway. A second pair of eyes will see things differently.”

“Not now. There’s no time. Focus on finding the doctor, then rest up for the bust tonight,” you command. Batgirl hums and you know she’s planning something. You almost get into another tirade when she speaks again.

“B, the Titans’ ship just cleared New York airspace. Do you want to call Nightwing?” she asks, her voice softer than it should be. You don’t know if it’s for you or for Dick.

“No. We don’t need him for this,” you insist.

“This mission is too risky to afford leaving out available manpower,” Batgirl reasons.

You grit your teeth. “He can’t know. Not yet.”

“He’ll feel better hearing it from you,” she adds.

“No,” you say, sounding more indignant than you intended.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she finishes.

The computer pings and it’s a chore to lean over your leg to press the button to display the results. Then you almost drop the phone in shock.

“B, what’s going on?” Batgirl asks when you place the phone over your ear again.

“We don’t need to find the doctor,” you tell her. “Meet me by the cave entrance in an hour. Bring the 3d laser scanners.”

The results for your look-alike’s DNA is displayed on the monitor.

**Match Found.**

Thomas Elliot, Jr. PhD

 

 **Night 1** **, APRIL ‘11**

“Is this the place?” Batgirl asks. You hum in affirmation.

The abandoned Elliot Manor stands menacingly in the shadows, surrounded by overgrown grass and trees. You get off your bike and walk closer. The bike engages its security system with a click and a whirr. Batgirl roots into her bike seat for the portable 3d scanner. It originated from the R&D Department of Wayne Enterprises. There are only five in existence: three donated to GCPD, the one in Batgirl’s hands and the spare in the cave.

She holds it up high enough for you to see the additions she’s made. It’s completely portable now. The data writer is compressed into a tiny box-like protrusion at the end. Its energy source is strapped on Batgirl’s arm. You frown.

“I was in the middle of tweaking. It’s not done yet,” Batgirl comments when she notices you looking. She goes to the car next to the house. Then, she points the scanner and pushes a button. The screen lights up, showing a photo evidence of a part of the car. Batgirl steps back to capture it from top to bottom. Then she moves around the vehicle, taking careful steps, and records.

You wait for her to finish recording the inside, giving her space to gather evidence. Soon enough, you make your way through the doors and into the manor. You lead her to the planning room through the kitchen. She records the interior of those rooms. You pay close attention to the web of threads and pins on the wall.

Last time, you were in too much pain to make more sense out of it. Now, it’s child’s play. All these threads pointing to one or the other, various plans strung out like a net to catch his prey: Bruce Wayne. Posted are some articles of incidents that resulted in minor losses for Wayne Enterprises and Wayne Foundation. Alfred and Dick’s pictures are crossed out. On the margin of Dick’s picture you read: _out of the country_. Alfred’s picture bears the same notes, scribbled in the same handwriting.

On the right side of your picture is Jason’s. It’s been circled multiple times with a variety of pens. There are no threads leading from Jason’s photo to anywhere else on the wall, just the little post-it mentioning him as your adopted son. The picture pivots when you move it, the pin holding it in place like a hinge. There’s something etched on the wall behind it.

You move the picture to uncover what’s hidden: a crude drawing of a cross.

Your whole body tenses as you try to reign in your anger. You can’t make a mess of this crime scene. You mustn’t—

“Batman, you need to see this,” Batgirl calls. You turn away from the wall and follow her voice to the bathroom.

It’s a gruesome scene. There’s old blood on the sink. Bandages are strewn around, the fresh ones in a neat roll on top of the sink. Surgical knives are aligned on a caddy, browning with blood. Spots on the cloth indicate that some had been taken.

“I’m going to look closer at his confession video. He should have bright red scars,” Batgirl says as she finishes scanning the room. You take some blood samples to match against Thomas.

It’s a dreary bike ride down Millionaire’s Mile.

You manage to shake Batgirl off your trail once you hit downtown. Between the raid tonight and the new pile of evidence, she doesn’t have much attention to spare.

That gives you ample time and space to do some digging on your own.

 

It isn't easy sneaking into GCPD this early in the night. Most of the cops are out, but the ones that stay are active and roaming, powered by coffee and snacks from a take-out place across the street. You slip in and out of shadowed corners, making your way slowly to your target. The crime lab is located south of the building, closer to its heart and surrounded by brightly lit hallways. It's quick and easy to confuse the security cameras.

Two technicians go out of the room. You hide behind the wall on the opposite corner.

"God!" one of them exclaims. You peep to get a look at the technicians. The one talking is a woman of Asian descent. She’s walking beside a gangly pale guy with a Gotham Mammoths cap. "You think you've seen everything in med school, but this case... I feel so bad for Bruce Wayne."

"This isn't the worst I've seen," the pale guy replies more snappily than he should have. "B-but!" he adds, "It's horrible. I mean, I didn't mean to say the kid deserves this, or whatever, just that... You know you're in Gotham, right? Shitty things happen to all kinds of people in this city. This shit is new because it happened to _the_ Bruce Wayne.”

"You're heartless, Arnie," she grumbles. "I wish they find the kid soon. We better make this break short. I want to get back to processing that blood stain."

Their steps peter off towards the door, muffled at last by double doors leading to the building proper. You move out of your hiding place and silently through the hallway. You slip into the lab. It's a mess of desks with sequestered little chambers separated by glass containing the best crime fighting tools the GCPD can spend money on. It's crude and at least five upgrades or so behind what you have in the cave. You make a mental note to donate more equipment next fiscal year.

It's saddening how the majority of the check you write for the department gets spent on bullet proof vests and guns. You did tell Jim to use it where he deems it best. Once again, you ask yourself if you're doing what’s best for Gotham. Maybe your vigilantism is pushing the levels of violence in the streets, making it impossible for law and order to reign.

Then again, it’s for these same reasons why you got started with the legend of the Batman. Gotham is steeped in violence, blood and crime, and has been before you became a vigilante.

Jim mentioned the decreasing level of gun activity on the streets at the charity ball last year. Granted, the level of drug trade was slowly climbing but Batman and Robin prioritized stopping the shipments of weaponry into Gotham; weaponry that in the right, or wrong, hands would have led to a turf war between Penguin and Black Mask.

It had taken a lot of time dismantling the growing hostilities between those two factions which led to Batman weakening both parties physically and economically for them to set up a longer truce. The raid you planned for tonight may jeopardize that.

You don’t care. The most important objective right now is to bring your boy home.

There it is. Unnamed item number six. It’s sitting in a tray, out of its evidence bag. The tag on its side proclaims its name. You open the tape compartment. It’s empty. You turn it over and open the SD card reader. It’s also empty.

You move towards one of the computers. Its processing video, transferring data from an SD card. You insert a usb and copy whatever it is that's being processed. There's a small evidence bag to the side numbered, higher than the list Batwoman gave you. When the technicians come back, the video has finished processing and you're on your way to Gotham General Hospital.

 

The air is thinner on top of Wayne Tower. The Gotham summer heat is starting to show itself, warm breeze blowing on the lower half of your face as you dangle your childhood friend over the side of the roof. Smog is gathering momentum, rolling slowly down over the city. No one would see you through the smoke.

“Where is Jason?” you growl. The piece of Gotham sludge sneers at you. You have him up in the air with a hand on his neck. He claws at your arms; futile effort against your reinforced armor.

“Did you check the cemetery? I reckon that’s where he’ll be. I was quite _thorough_ with him,” he lies. You see and hear a grappling hook attach on the decorative spire above.

You scowl at Thomas and throw him to the side. He laughs at you.

“Tell me. Is Bruce hurting right now? Blaming himself for leaving his dirty son—” he taunts till a blur of blue and black hits him.

“You sick son of a—” Nightwing snarls. He punches Thomas with all the rage a 200-pound individual can muster. You pull him off by his waist. It’s not an easy feat, with Dick twisting like an eel in your arms. You can hear Batgirl’s voice yelling in his comms.

“Nightwing, stand down,” you command in his ear. Nightwing takes a couple of steadying breaths, his body shaking with anger. Thomas runs to the doors leading to the emergency exit. You grab one of Nightwing’s escrima sticks and hurl it at the man. Thomas’ back makes contact with the business end of the weapon, getting a couple hundred volts charging through him. He’s knocked out cold.

You tentatively let go of Nightwing to investigate Thomas. The rubber in your gloves insulates against any leftover charge. You press two fingers below his nose and watch air condense on your glove. He’s still alive.

“He’s out,” you say, reaching your belt for some zip ties. Nightwing kicks Thomas again.

“Nightwing!” you scold him. Dick growls something unintelligible before walking off to the side. You continue securing the perp with zip ties.

“Batgirl’s been listening in on you two. You’re not getting anything out of him,” Nightwing argues back. His face is stuck in a snarl. You sling the body over your shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

“If you’d just let her look at the vids!” Nightwing insists, following your path to the edge of the building. You ready your grapple line.

“Stay out of this,” you warn him, firing your line at an adjacent building. You have exhausted most of your leads. You need to return Thomas to GCPD.

“I won't! He’s my— He’s important to me too! Let me help, damn you,” Nightwing yells. He grabs your arm, and you would have fallen over if you hadn’t corrected your weight distribution in the nick of time.

“Stop trying to do everything by yourself,” Nightwing growls at you this time. You take a good look at his face. Heartbreak and guilt. Desperation.

 “I’ll send her the files,” you say before you fly into the night.

 

TBC


End file.
